Seeds of Discontent
by Lillehafrue
Summary: Sam and Dean try to pick up the pieces after exorcising Samhain. A missing scene from "It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester."


_Author's note: I want to give a huge THANK-YOU to Agent Five for all her help and support with this...God knows I needed it. Thanks for reading! Enjoy!_

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Dean poured the last of the gasoline out over the mausoleum floor. He lit a match, paused a moment to take a deep breath, then threw it. He turned and walked out the door, not looking back as the building erupted in flames.

He started towards the car, then froze when he spied his brother leaning against it, head resting in his arms.

"Sam!"

Sam's head snapped up. "Dean?"

"You alright?"

Sam nodded wearily. "Yeah." He glanced back at the flames licking the sides of the crypt. "We'd better get out of here."

They got into the car, and a few minutes later were speeding down the road. Dean shot a look over at his brother, who had his head resting against the window. Dean wasn't sure if Sam was awake or passed out. "Sammy?" His brother sat up and looked over at Dean with bleary eyes. "You sure you're OK?" Sam merely nodded and leaned back against the seat, one hand massaging his temple. Dean sighed and turned his attention back to the road.

_This is a bad one,_ Sam thought to himself. _And without Ruby around, I'll have to take care of it myself._ He opened his eyes, trying to gauge their distance from the hotel. The movement of the scenery outside turned his stomach and he slammed them shut again biting back a moan.

Dean watched his brother out of the corner of his eye, his concern warring with his anger.

"Stop staring at me." Sam's voice broke the silence.

"Who says I'm staring? Just making sure you don't get blood all over the upholstery."

"Nice." Sam sat up straighter, hands fisting in his hair. "Well? Are you going to lecture me or what? I can't take the suspense much longer."

Dean shrugged. "Nothing much to talk about, is there? You did what you had to do."

"That's right, I did," Sam snapped. "So don't sit there and act all judgmental."

Dean's tremulous hold on his temper finally snapped. "What do you want me to say, Sam? That I didn't see what happened down there? That I didn't see you using the God-damned Force to kill a demon? Is that what you want to hear?"

"No, I—"

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean interrupted, pounding his fists on the steering wheel. "You said you wouldn't use your...hell, I don't even know what to call it!" He snorted in derision. "I turn around for a minute and you've exorcised a demon with your mind! And not just any demon, but Samhain!"

"Dean, I had no choice!"

"No choice? What happened to the knife? You toss it aside for a better option?"

"He knocked it out of my hand! What else was I supposed to do?"

"You could have called me. I could have taken the son of a bitch down."

Sam shot his brother an incredulous look. "In case you didn't notice, I was being choked at the time." He turned to face the window again. "Besides, I've kinda gotten used to doing things on my own," he said quietly.

Dean's head snapped around. "Well forgive me for spending the last four months in Hell," he said furiously.

"That's not what I meant." Sam shook his head and winced. "Look, just forget it."

"No, Sam. Castiel told me to stop you. _Angels_ don't want you doing this. If you're not going to listen to me, at least listen to them!"

Sam stared straight ahead. "You're sure putting alot of trust in them, considering you barely believe they exist," he said quietly.

"Don't you dare turn this on me," Dean growled.

"These angels of yours. They aren't exactly the robe wearing, harp playing type, are they?"

"This from the guy taking mind lessons from a demon."

Sam snorted. "You weren't there."

"So help me, Sam, you say that again and I'll shoot you myself."

"Why don't you then? It's what Dad wanted after all," Sam shot back.

Dean shot a murderous look at his brother. "Don't you talk about him that way. If I remember correctly, you're the one who made me promise to kill you back in Connecticut. Or have you forgotten that fact?" His voice was cold as ice.

Sam turned away. "Fine. I—" He broke off in mid-sentence, hissing in pain. "Stop, Dean," he said, clenching his fists.

"Oh, now you want to stop? You're the one who brought up the subject in the first place." Dean avoided looking over at his brother. "Fine," he snapped when the silence had gone on too long. He bent and turned on the tape player, cranking the volume loud.

Sam just sighed and clenched his eyes shut. A moment later, he reached over and shut off the radio.

Dean immediately turned it back on.

"Do you mind?" Sam asked, his voice tight with pain.

"Nope."

They continued on in silence, the music on the radio beating in time with the pulse pounding in Sam's skull. After a few minutes, he leaned forward, trying to ease the pressure in his head.

Dean glanced over at his brother. "Sam? You OK?" he asked, his worry overriding his rage.

"No..." He pressed his hands to his temples and let out a low moan. "Pull over; I'm going to be sick."

Dean instantly swung the Impala to the side of the road. Almost before the car had stopped, Sam had opened the door. He stumbled out, falling to his knees, retching. Dean was at his side in a heartbeat, but Sam waved him away.

He took a few shuddering breaths, then sat up to lean back against the side of the car. He closed his eyes, pressing his hands against his temples, trying to ignore the pain and nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Here, you're dripping blood everywhere."

Sam looked up to see his brother handing him a rag. "Thanks." He pressed it under his nose.

Dean crouched down next to him. "I thought you told me you didn't get these headaches anymore."

"I don't. Or I didn't anyway." He shrugged. "I haven't...tried this hard in a long time."

"Maybe Castiel was right then."

"Dean."

Dean shrugged. "Just saying." He sighed and ran his hands over his face. "Sam, this whole thing freaks me out. I mean, I'm pulled out of Hell by an angel and you exorcise demons with your mind."

"I'm trying to help people. Trying to turn this...this curse in me to something good," Sam said softly. "And if you want the truth, it freaks me out, too."

Dean glanced up at the empty road. Sirens could be heard in the distance. "We should get out of here."

"Yeah, you're right." Sam started to his feet then fell back as another blast of pain seared through his head. "Oh, God..." The world spun around him.

"Sam!" Dean grabbed his brother by the shoulders and peered into his eyes. "I'm calling for help. Bobby can be here in a couple of hours." He reached for his cell phone.

"No...just..." He moaned again. "I can take care of myself at the motel..."

Dean still looked doubtful. Shaking his head, he stood and held his hand out, hauling his brother to his feet. Sam swayed drunkenly a moment and Dean steadied him. "Easy, Sammy."

Sam shook his head, trying to clear it. "I'm fine." He took a deep breath. "I have some stuff back at the motel that'll clear this up by morning." He opened his eyes and smiled half-heartedly at his brother. "Really, Dean, I'm OK."

"Let's move then."

Dean waited until his brother was settled in the passenger seat before speeding off. A short time later, they pulled into the motel. Once in their room, Sam immediately went over to his duffle bag and pulled out a small vial. Shaking a few pills out in his hand, he glanced around, then spied the bottle of whiskey on the table. He tossed the pills in his mouth and took a long swig from the bottle.

Dean picked up pills and read the label, then eyed his brother dubiously. "That's a helluva combination you got going there, Sammy."

Sam shrugged. "It works." He peeled his jacket off, then toed off his shoes and dropped down on the bed furthest from the door. He pressed his fists to his eyes, willing the drugs to start working. Finally his body relaxed and he slipped into oblivion.

Dean sat down on the edge of his bed, pulling his own jacket off. He ran his hands over his face and sighed.

_Pain...fear...screams...death...._

He got up and grabbed the bottle of whiskey, finishing it in three quick gulps. With an unsteady hand, he threw the bottle against the wall, shattering it. Glancing back at his brother, he was unsurprised to see Sam hadn't flinched. He walked the room, checking the salt lines, then made sure his gun was loaded. Sighing again, he settled himself in a chair, watching as the pain lines on his brother's face evened out. When he was sure Sam was resting comfortably Dean turned on the TV and, with his thoughts in turmoil, waited for the dawn.


End file.
